


i remembered for the first time since i hated you that i used to love you

by anonymous_mystery95



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, post 1.11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 12:25:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymous_mystery95/pseuds/anonymous_mystery95
Summary: They're like moths to a flame, drawn to the danger, to the beauty. They know it'll burn, know it'll hurt.But they can't stay away.They can't.





	i remembered for the first time since i hated you that i used to love you

She hates driving to the sheriff's station with Archie and Veronica in the back of her car. Her knuckles are clasped tight around the steering wheel, white under all the tension. Her lips are pursed and her eyes cold. She hates walking into the station, her voice tight as she snaps at the deputy, demanding that the sheriff hear what the children have to say. She doesn't know where to look, and so she stares forward, watching them wait in her peripheral. She sees Archie take his jacket, cover Veronica's shoulders with it, pulling her close, supporting her. And suddenly they're not there anymore, suddenly she's the teenager with a jacket strewn over her shoulder - a leather one instead, FP putting his hands over her shoulder, glaring at anyone who dare even look at them for too long. She is shaking in his hold; she hadn't expected the assault after her shift at the diner - the man was old, alone, very intoxicated. She was preparing to pull out the knife inside her stocking when he loses consciousness. And there was FP, concern in his eyes, his hands out, pulling her against him, covering her up with his black leather jacket, the most important thing he owned. He walked her home that night, had pulled her close, kissed her so gently she felt as though she would burst. His hands cupped her cheek, touch so faint she thought she imagined in, and his eyes flickered across her face, looking for any disgust, any sign of not wanting it. And she doesn't know what to do but tug him closer and -

 

"And you are willing to stand by their statements Mrs Cooper?"

 

\- and suddenly she is pulled out of her memories and into the realities of this world.

 

"Yes, of course. Sheriff there is a murderer on the loose, and you've been two steps behind everyone else. Who called you with the tip-off? Did they mention that you'd find a gun? What details did they provide? Why were they so sure? These are the questions you should be asking yourself. It's a terrible attempt at a frame up, and I'm questioning the safety of the town if you're in charge," she sneers. The words are poison on her lips as she spits them out, but everything is so strange now and she is remembering things she had tried to push down for so long. And they were overwhelming her.

 

She hates the laughter she hears, belatedly realising that she may be speaking too loudly if he can hear her. She hates the way the sheriff sighs, keys jangling as he goes to unlock the cell.

 

More than anything else, she hates the smug grin on the bastard's face as he strolls out of the prison cell, his eyes flickering over her.

 

"Missed me that much darlin’?" And oh, it would be nice to punch that arrogant look off of his face. Maybe with a brick.

 

"Shut up FP," she says instead, meeting his gaze. She refuses to look away, to back down from him, and he slows in front of her, stopping so close, so very close.

 

"Didn't think you'd change your mind so quickly," he muses, corner of lip curled into a smirk.

 

"Oh I know your guilty, just not of keeping the murder weapon in your house." She sounds so steady, so unaffected by his presence. But there is a twitch in his lip, a twinkle in his eyes. And she curses him then, curses their past together. He knows her tells just as much as she is familiar with his. She pushes back her shoulders, jutting her jaw out. She will not buckle to him, she won't.

 

"I'll see ya around Alice." He winks at her before strolling out of the police station, whistling a jingle she hadn't heard for over fifteen years.

 

It's only then she takes a breath, only then she notices that she had been holding it in for so long.

 

"Come on," she says sharply. "I'll drop you both at Andrew's house, I'm sure you're going to want to help with the search party Betty's organised."

 

"What about you Mrs Cooper," she hears Archie say. "What are you gonna do?" She mutters her reply under her breath, outside the hearing range of the children.

 

"I'm going to get a drink."

 

* * *

 

She doesn't expect the knock at the door at three in the morning. She wraps her robe tight around her, walking down the stairs to peer through the peephole.

 

And no one was there.

 

Suddenly she finds herself spinning around, back pressed against the door, a familiar hand on her waist holding her down. And his mouth was on hers, brutal and greedy. And there is no doubt in her mind of who it is, his kisses still the same all these years later. She thinks of his wife (separated for years) and her husband (separated for weeks) and then she doesn't think of anyone but the man holding her roughly against the door, tongue sweeping insider her mouth, tasting the bitterness of the alcohol she had drunk.

 

"You didn't think a locked door could keep me out, did ya?" He murmurs it against her lips, hands already tugging at her robe, pulling it to the ground. He unties the belt easily, grinning as he meets no resistance.  She bites his bottom lip in response, smiling to herself as he leans harder against her in response, his kisses and touches, more wild, more thrilling.

 

He slips the robe over her shoulder, the material collecting at her feet. He pulls back to look at her. It's a beautiful sight, Alice Cooper pressed against her front door, lips swollen, hair beautifully messy, a strap of her nightgown slipping off her shoulder, the satin material cutting off mid thigh. He watched the flush spread down her neck, a lovely colour, a crooked grin on his face as he meets her cool gaze.

 

"Are you actually going to do anything or will I have to myself?" FP smirks, but the image in his mind of her is delicious and he can't keep himself from kissing her again, hand cupping the back of her head, fingers tangled on her blonde locks. He was not used to exercising restraint, more so with her. Her moan was almost approving, hands delving underneath his shirt, sliding up his chest, tugging it off completely.

 

"I hate you." she murmurs as he licks and sucks, slipping the other strap off of her shoulder. He moves his mouth off her collarbone, leaning up her ears, tongue licking the shell, teeth tugging the earlobe. She shudders against him, grip tightening  much to his pleasure.

 

"Where's yur daughter Alice?" he rasps. And most of all, she hates the effect her name on his tongue has on her.

 

"Fred Andrews." she gasps. "He and the kids are all looking for your son," He chuckles lowly, full of promises he was going to keep. And there is a thrill down her spine at the sound. She knows he knows something that she doesn't, and while she can't place it exactly, she finds that she doesn't care, not with his hardness pressing against her, his hands rough against her skin. Alice feels as though her skin is on fire, his touch lighting her up. She nuzzles him, lips skimming his neck, sucking at his pulse point. Her actions stutter at the feel of his hand on her thigh, collecting the material of her nightgown, rising higher and higher.

 

"So we've got the house to ourselves." He bites hard, marking her. she gasps into his ear, her nails digging into his skin and it has him hissing against her. "Bedroom."

 

She nods, nose bumping into his as her hands find his face, tugging him back toward her lips, mouth open as she drinks him in. She leans away from the door and into him, hand clutching his shirt tightly, the other moving from his face to the back of his head, running her fingers through the locks of his hair, scraping her nails over his scalp.

 

It's difficult to manoeuvre up the stairs, not when they can't find the strength to pull away. She backs her way up the stairs, FP holding the back of her thighs, ready to step between them, to have them wrap around his waist as he walks them up the stairs himself. It is taking too long, and he wants her, has never really stopped, but now - right now - it is a burning need, threatening to overcome all sense in him.

 

But then he stumbles and she falls against the stairs, the hard edges digging into her back, sanity starting to return as pain shoots through her body from the point of contact. FP simply stands there, admiring the scene, Alice on her back, nightgown rising up her legs, chest heaving eyes on him. He's dropping to his knees below her, a wicked grin on his face as she sees what he's doing, what his planning to do.

 

"Don't you dare."

 

He does.

 

FP runs a finger up her calves, and Alice's legs fall open at the touch. She hates him, but her body still loves him, still craves his touch after all these years, still needs to have him. She turns her head, breaking eye contact, as he chuckles, but then he stills, hands hot on her thighs, tracing patterns across her skin, refusing to rise higher.

 

"Come on darlin'," he murmurs, "don't do that." She doesn't want to make a noise, to remind him of the power he wields against her. Alice's gaze snaps back, a glare directed towards him. And slowly she lowers her hand, cupping his own. His gaze doesn't waver from her own, not as she pulls his hand and hers up her legs, a gasp leaving her unbidden at they touch her mound through the underwear. She jerks at the feeling, hip canting off up to the touch, before landing painfully on the stairs again. Alice watches FP, her breath held as she sees his eyes darken, his fingers moving without the prompting of her own, slipping inside the final layer, brushing against her skin. He sucks in a breath, Alice wet and hot and she's staring at him with hooded lips, mouth slightly open. He doesn't know what to do, whether to use his hand or mouth or nothing at all. He thinks about having her touch herself in front of him, and it leaves him a little breathless. But he can see the walls, the shutters behind her eyes, leaving her cold. And he needs to break them.

 

He leans up, capturing her mouth as he slips two fingers inside her, the muscles contracting around him, pulling the digits further in. She groans against his lips against her best efforts, whimpers as he stills his movements yet again. He moves erratically, driving her insane with need, always pushing her to the brink before denying her release.

 

"FP." It is a broken whisper, driven by desperation and desire. He has her wrists caught in his other hand, denying her the ability to touch herself, a smug grin on his face. He nips her jawline, enjoying the shuddering breath that was expelled from her lips. He wonders how long he can torture her like this for, how long he could tease her. She had always been impatient, especially when it was just them, _especially_  when it was like this.

 

He finally has mercy, moving constantly, thrusting hard, his fingers curling inside her, Alice moaning at the feeling. She's so close, and when his thumb flicks against her clit, she knows that there is no stopping it.

 

She comes with a scream, voice sore as it does down. She should feel embarrassed, his name on her lips and not her husband's - or no name at all. But the look of wonder in his eyes, the spark that made her love him so many years ago returns. And she can't feel the shame or guilt. Not yet. Instead she arches up, capturing his lips in a messy kiss, moving quickly from his mouth, across his jawline, down his neck and across his chest.

 

"Alice," he forces out, all his energy in trying to speak. "I love it, but bedroom." She stops, reluctantly, teeth lightly biting at his skin. "Think you can walk?" he asks smugly.

 

"You're good, but you're not _that_  good," she retorts, no bitterness in her voice. It is still a shaky step forward, and his chuckle echoes through the hallway.

 

* * *

 

The bedroom door opens, both of them inside, before he risks kissing her again.

 

They kiss like they're at war, seeking victory over the other, seeking to win. It's a power struggle, the pair of them fighting for dominance, fighting to bring the other to their knees. There is barely enough time to breathe, open mouthed kisses stealing the oxygen from their lungs, hands unable to stay still, to not touch the other's body, sparks shooting through them at the feeling of bare skin.

 

She feels scars that had never faded, from her memory or his body, she feels scars she knows are new. Alice ignores the feelings welling up inside of her, letting her mind be distracted by his lips down the column of her neck, sucking and biting her. She is fine with it as she works his belt buckle, loosening it before unbuttoning the pants and pulling everything down, FP kicking his pants and underwear off. She takes him in her hands, stroking him, and she grins with triumph as his movements stagger. But then he is tugging that damn nightgown further down her body, slipping her arms out before letting it drop to the floor.

 

And Alice stands before him, covered only by her underwear, a vision to behold.

 

He wants to take time to savour the moment, he wants to worship the body the way he had done so long ago, to cherish it knowing he may never get the opportunity he had wanted since the day she walked out of his trailer. But more than that he wants her, to be inside her, to have her scream his name as she had done not ten minutes ago.

 

He lets out a low whistle, gaze raking over her body, smiling as she rolls her eyes, her own grin on her lips as she pulls him back towards her  pressing her body into his as they continue to kiss. His fingers slip between her hips and the lace. He slides it down, the material collecting at her feet.

 

She steps out of the undergarment, directing him towards the bed. FP takes slow steps backwards, not wanting to break the connection, but so very wanting to have her underneath him.

 

However, it is Alice who pushes him onto his back, crawling on top of him, a Cheshire grin on her face.

 

The loss is a win, especially the sight of her straddling his hips, like some fallen angel, all beautiful and dangerous. And like a moth to the flame, once he saw her again he couldn't keep away. Alice holds onto his shoulders as she lowers herself onto him, head thrown back at the sensation, nails  raking down his chest, a red trail left in their wake. It had been so long since she'd done this with anyone, and gosh, it feels good. _He_ feels good. He grunts when he's fully sheathed inside her; she's so hot around him, so tight. And gosh, he didn't think she'd ever looked so beautiful than she did right now.

 

She keeps the pace tortuously slow, rolling her hips, moving up and down. It's driving him insane. But he knows he deserves it. He snaps his hips up, unintelligible noises pouring out from Alice at the sensation. But she punishes him, almost slowing to a still. And he lets her, gives her the reins, the smile lighting up in victory beautiful, but a challenge all the same.

 

His hands wander to the apex of her thigh, pinching the nub, a strangled groan escaping from her mouth at the sensation erupting inside her at his actions. She pushes down harder, forcing an exhale from his lungs. She does it over and over, driving him mad with want, his hands coming to her hips, guiding her motions, her speed. FP's grip is bruising, but it does nothing but arouse her more, pain and pleasure mixing together, pushing her closer to release. She relents to his directions, speeding up her movements, FP matching her movements perfectly. They were synchronised with each other, both chasing their release, holding it off, desperate for the other to come first. Alice has her eyes squeezed shut, afraid to meet his gaze, to drown in the intensity of it.

 

And maybe that is why she was surprised as he rolls them over, pushing Alice on her back. Their movements never falter, FP pushing back into her, her back arching off the bed. Her legs wrap around his waist at first, but they slip higher up his torso, the shift in angle enough to have her keening, her fingers running through his hair. She pulls his face down, meeting his mouth with a kiss. He responds eagerly, thrusts not slowing. It's messy, and she's sure that her nails have left a trail of red dragging down his back. His hand lowers back to her clit, rubbing it until she breaks the kiss, a litany of curse words as she gets closer to another orgasm.

 

"Come on darlin'," he murmurs, other hand brushing away the stray locks from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Let me see ya." She opens her eyes, meeting his dark orbs. He snaps his hips, and she comes around him.

 

Her release triggers his own; she is so tight and hot around him, and her face in that very moment is a memory he will cherish in the darkest nights, when he doesn't feel the shame of thinking about her, of missing her, of needing her still. It's so beautiful, he can't help but steal another kiss, disappointed he wouldn't hear her screams. Alice holds to him tight, as if afraid to let go, as if he were an anchor in the storms of life. He thinks his thoughts cheesy, but he still pulls her against him, cuddling her as they both come down from their high.

 

* * *

 

Alice lays on her back, satiated and uncaring of the consequences. She feels the bed shift underneath her, FP adjusting himself. She readies herself for him leaving, cursing her heart for picking up speed, but all he does is roll onto his side, resting on his elbow, head leaning on his palm. He looks down at her, at the vision of her hair, tangled, at the bruising and bite marks adorning her skin.

 

She looks younger, looks calmer. And he can almost trick himself into believing no time had passed, that they had never separated.

 

"What?" she questions, a sharp inhale as his hand strokes her waist, drawing patterns on the exposed skin, a move far too intimate for her to be ready for.

 

"Nothing," he starts. "Just nice to see the stick out of your ass" he amends with a smirk.

 

"Shut up, FP." There is little bite in her words, and a hint of a smile on her tongue. "Don't you have somewhere to be? You know, actually looking for your son." he scoffs at her words, rolling his eyes at her attempt to insult him.

 

"I know where he is sweetheart, I wouldn't be here if he was still out there." But she doesn't relax, not until he adds, "He's safe Alice. I swear." She hums in response, and he finds himself missing the sound. "Why'da leave me?" he asks. He sounds different, the bravado and cockiness in his voice lost. He sounds like he did all those years ago, and it tears at her. She had been so sure she was over all the emotions from before, but with everything she feels more vulnerable than before. "And why'da choose that prick to marry. His obsession with you was creepy." The undercurrent of anger isn't hidden, and she fears that it might not be all in the past. "I would have taken care of the baby and you. And softer, "I loved  you." She laughs, cold and hard, but he can hear it- he spent years learning every inflection, every reaction. She was breaking inside thinking about it.

 

"I wanted to leave Southside, make a better life for myself. You made sure I knew damn well you would would never leave them, not for me." And his heart still squeezes at the words, "I loved you, but I needed to love me more." His hands stills on her waist, and she never realised how much she missed it until she felt it again.

 

"Alice." FP wants to tell her she's wrong, so very wrong. He almost tells her about the ring he had bought, the one he carried around for weeks before they had broken up, and for the weeks after. He almost tells her about the dreams he had, of becoming legitimate. He broached the idea of a construction company with Fred, not simply because he could, but so that he would be able to provide for them, help her as she goes and becomes the journalist he knows she desired to be. But words had never been his forte.

 

"I wasn't enough, _we_  weren't enough." Her voice cracks but she doesn't care. Her baby, she wanted her baby back. "That's okay FP, I'll survive." He sighs, shaking his head. And he doesn't have any words, so he leans down, capturing her lips against his once more. This moment was different however, nothing like the lust and rage fuelling them before. She could taste the goodbye on his tongue, the salt of the unshed tears or tears cried when they were all alone, hiding from the world, hiding from themselves. It is soft and gentle and she can feel the emotion bubbling up inside her. FP breaks it with a tilt of his face, a hairbreadth between the two. And she wants to look away from his eyes, so dark and alluring, so open to her. She doesn't know if she can handle this again; she is still so raw after Hal and the past most certainly doesn't heal with time.

 

"Stay, go. Whatever." Her voice is steady, and she rolls onto her side, facing away from him. Afraid he'd see the tears shining in her eyes.

 

She thinks to all those years ago, the fact that she would already know he was staying, that he would wrap an arm around her waist and pull her flush against his chest. She remembers the times he would nuzzle against her, his slight shadow tickling her, Alice giggling at the sensation.

 

FP doesn't do that now, he lies on his back, hand behind his head,  taking a deep breath before letting his eyelids flutter closed.

 

She smiles to herself, empty  and hollow. He didn't leave her, and for some reason, that's enough for her.

 

**Author's Note:**

> on [ tumblr](http://roastytoastyprincesss.tumblr.com) so come say hi :)


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